Trying Times in the Land of Drangleic
by TheFisher
Summary: In which I fall into a video game, and it isn't even Dark Souls I.


Let me tell you what dying feels like, from someone who _really, really_ knows what she's talking about: dying feels like falling.

First you get the pain. It depends on what killed you, but if it's some _mortal blow_ that gets you right in the belly, or fire that scorches your ass to oblivion, or magic—well, magic that does _something_ bad and unrecoverable to your person, then it's gonna hurt, first and foremost. Usually pretty bad.

But that fades. And of course, if you were blessed with a near-instant kill, like a slice that disconnects your head from your body, or a blow that smooshes you into a pancake almost at once, or a broken neck, yadda yadda, it doesn't hurt long. Pain means you're alive. When the pain goes, so do you.

And as you go, as you die, you fall.

Your body falls to the ground, but at this point you don't feel your body much. You probably don't even feel yourself connecting with the ground. No, what you're feeling is something else. Your eyes are closed now, and you find yourself teetering painlessly at the edge of a great soundless void that gapes into eternity underneath you. You are not scared, because fear does not exist in this lonely chasm.

You reach the tipping point. You fall.

The fall roars around you. You lose yourself in it. There is nothing but the falling and the empty, for an eternity, for always, there has never been anything but this great endless fall. _You_ are not you, there is no _you,_ there is only the fall. There has never been anything else.

Then, abruptly, you come creaking and groaning to life at some bonfire, heavy with armor and emotion, and your first conscious thought is something like _Dear God, not again. Oh my God. I hate this fucking game. Jesus Christ._

Like I said, I'm an expert. I've died a few times, if you can believe it.

* * *

The first time I died and was born again was in response to a white-grey Toyota with a dented windshield.

The details of my time before tend to be a bit fuzzy. I remember the urge to walk across the street, which I did, waving an arm, probably yelling something inane. I remember the scream of tires against asphalt. I remember the sudden crushing pain, how I skidded and rolled and came to a stop wrapped around somebody's bike, hands opening and closing, choking on my own blood.

I died there, in the gutter, mercifully unconscious long before the real pain of the shredded skin and the destroyed bones hit me. Despite the unconsciousness I felt my fall. It was a long one, and I would've been scared if the process of dying allowed fear, but it doesn't, and I wasn't. So, unafraid, I fell for a long time. Long, long time. I lost some of myself in that black silent tunnel, I think. Stripped away as I fell. Or maybe I gained something. I don't know. It hurts my head to think about it.

Then, against the falling, came a sense of _growing,_ of exploding into being, of _becoming_ again, and as I felt these things I felt the cold ground underneath me, and my own heart beating in my chest. _Alive,_ I thought, as I flailed against the grass, beat grateful fists into the earth. _I'm alive!_

I opened my eyes.

The first thing I registered was the grass, the tall grey grass swinging in a gentle breeze. I stared up from the ground and thoughtfully drummed my fingers against cold earth. _There's dirt in my mouth,_ I realized, clambering onto my elbows to spit it out. _Gross, come on._

Again I glanced up. Grass, more grass, and in the distance the blue-grey walls of a cavern, far enough away that it took me a moment to figure out what they were. _Well I'll be,_ I thought, settling my weight on one of my elbows, using the other to pick a glob of dirt out from between two of my teeth. _I've finally lost it._

Then, as a test, I knuckled myself roughly in the eye. The grass and the cavern walls remained. _Shit,_ I thought, and scrambled to my feet, brushing the dirt from my bare knees. _Bare,_ I thought, and the little breeze from before ran over my body and chilled me, and as I rubbed my hands over my naked stomach for warmth it occurred to me that the rest of me was just as naked.

"Oh my God," I said. "What _is_ this."

God, it seemed, was not in the answering mood. Silence in the cavern. Grass continued to sway. I continued to stand in an unclothed sort of way, looking from side to side, feeling very much like a sexual predator caught lurking in the bushes near a playground. "I didn't even choose to be naked," I defended to the silence, "I woke up like this." The silence continued.

As I rubbed my upper arms for warmth I thought back on the crash, the Toyota with its dented windshield, and realized that the worst had happened, that I _had_ been killed in the crash after all, and delivered to an afterlife. _Heaven or Hell?_ I thought. The place sucked for Heaven, but then it didn't seem to be bad enough for Hell. Well, I _was_ naked. Naked can mean very fun, sexual times, or it can mean very humiliating and degrading times, and at that moment I wasn't sure whether I was in for one or the other, or maybe a confusing mixture of both.

 _Purgatory,_ I decided, starting forward. _I'm in Purgatory._

The ground was cold and slightly moist under my bare feet. I tried to hook my thumbs into the waistband of my jeans before remembering that my jeans were snug around the hips of my mangled, bike-bound body. I settled for clasping my hands in front of my privates in a way that probably made me seem much, much creepier, somehow.

Light caught my eye and dazzled me. I tilted my head back, took in the crack in the rock wall that bled sunlight into the cavern, that probably prevented the grey grass from dying, what a boon to the ecosystem. I paused for a moment with narrowed eyes, and I felt as though in another life I had stood in this cavern and stared at this crack, that I had somehow seen it all before.

The familiarity swept in waves down my spine. My thumbs itched. _It looked crappier than this when I last saw it, though,_ I thought, _shitter graphics._ My upper lip curled back; I frowned. "Ha ha," I said aloud. "Purgatory looks just like the beginning of _Dark Souls II._ Weird."

Purgatory, as always, was silent. "That's really weird," I said again, abandoning the protection of my nether regions for a moment to scratch the back of my neck. "You wouldn't think a coincidence like that would be possible, and yet…" The wind tugged at my hair; I went back to privates protection with both cupped hands. "Here I am," I finished, eyes aglow with the light streaming in from the crack.

The enormity of the place surrounded and swallowed me. I felt like a very, very small fish beating ineffective fins against the enormous force of some bloated-mouth whale; I felt like a crab whose armored body had been compressed into a hole in a pipeline the size of a penny because of some fantastic underwater pressure; I felt like there was a subconscious reason I'd become so fond of ocean-related metaphors, but nothing concrete was coming to mind. I stood swaying in the light from the crack for a while. Then I shook myself and continued on.

 _Wouldn't it be funny,_ I thought, passing through a narrow gap between two grey boulders, _If I really were in a video game? I used to hope something like that would happen to me all the time when I was younger._ A shudder swept over me. _Also, it would mean I wasn't dead after all, or at least it would mean I'm not in some horrifying eldritch torture-afterlife that my feeble mind will never truly comprehend. And that's a bonus._

Beyond the gap was a little clearing. I stepped into it and the familiarity was a punch to the gut. _Jesus God, this_ is _the beginning of Dark Souls II. I mean it really is. That friggin' ogre is around here somewhere, and the old ladies. And—and—_ My throat constricted; I took short sharp breaths through my open mouth. "This is happening," I said, heedless of the Friggin' Ogre, wherever it might be, "Holy fucking shit, this is a game and I'm in it, _I'm in it,_ it's happening _to me."_ I wanted to scream, throw up, dance, sing, fuck the closest human-looking man I could get my hands on ( _Saulden,_ my brain supplied, _It's the Crestfallen guy who's like 'you'll never succeed, Bearer of the Curse, join the covenant for pussies instead.')_ "I _know_ this game," I said, sweating, hyperventilating, "I can survive it, I've _played it."_ My stomach churned. "I don't have to be dead," I whispered, clasping my hands together, "I can live, _I can live."_

Around me the clearing was quiet. My head snapped up; I surveyed the circle of grass with a hawk's clinical interest. _There are tunnels around here,_ I thought, _One of them leads to a silky smooth stone, I_ remember _that shit, and also one leads to the worst ogre in the world but I don't need to deal with that one right now at this moment._

I took a step. Almost at once came rustling of the grey grass from the left, getting closer by the second, and as I threw myself back a small greying shape circled out of the dark, darted around my legs, and trotted away again, silent but for its rustling footfalls in the grass. I had recoiled in dread, drawing one leg up and away, curling my toes and clenching my fists. With great ceremony I placed my bare foot back against the ground, let the dread and terror seep from my muscles.

Another little shape darted from the grass, and I shrieked and made for the other side of the clearing, dignity forgotten. _Fuck that,_ I thought, as I ran, _I do_ not _remember those and I'm not about to die this early, no way no how._

Only once I'd crossed the clearing and charged through the next gap between boulders did I feel safe. I paused for a breather, bending over at the waist to pant at the air, glancing behind me every few seconds to check for pursuit. There was none. Incrementally I straightened up, wiping the sweat from my temples. "See," I said aloud, "They didn't hurt you after all, you coward. You could have done better than that."

Or not. I was still naked. That fact sometimes escaped me, but it was important that I not let it escape me for long. _I am naked,_ I told myself, _And afraid. So very naked. So very afraid._

From beyond came the gentle roar of water over stone, the welcome smell of wet dirt and grass. I looked at the little waterfall for a moment, remembering. The skin on my forearms crawled with gooseflesh. _This is really happening,_ I thought, _This_ is _the game._

There was a possibility that this was actually a fevered hallucination brought on by the brains leaking out of my ears courtesy of the white-grey Toyota I would never forgive, but I preferred the _I'm In a Video Game_ idea.

Stretching across the waterfall was a wooden bridge. As I walked to it I glanced over to the bushes on my left, where, if I remembered correctly, _the worst damn ogre ever_ would be waiting for me. Unless I wanted to punch it to death, which I didn't really want to do, staying away from his area would probably be for the best.

The bridge swayed under my bare feet. I grabbed one of the rope handles and peered over the edge at the water tumbling into soundless nothing. _Things Betwixt,_ I thought. _What a place. Does it just fall down into the center of the earth, or is there more down there under Drangleic?_ I squeezed the rope in my hands. _Who knows?_

Onward. I crossed the bridge, shuddered again at the warmly-lit hut where, if I remembered correctly, the old women in red would be huddled. _Firekeepers,_ I thought, _Wasn't that the theory?_ But I'd never really been much for theories. In fact the lore of the game had never been a particular pull. I was a lot more interested in mashing the Smelter Demon to death with my greatsword.

Huh. A bit of a violent youth, there.

I walked up the wooden steps to the door, framed by two whitened tree boughs, and ran a finger through my tangled hair. _I must look like a mess,_ I thought, _and also—Jesus Christ, how do I keep forgetting—_ _I AM STILL FUCKING NAKED._

Oh well. First impressions be damned. They probably had naked people falling through here all the time. No doubt it was a very normal, not strange at all occurrence in the Things Betwixt household. Just to be safe I dropped one hand back to junk-covering duty, and with a bit of a nervous sigh I used the other one to knock on, and then push open, the door.

What hit me first was the warmth. I sighed, slipped through the threshold of the door, let it swing shut behind me. The ice that had settled into my bones began to thaw; the gooseflesh on my thighs smoothed. The room was sparse but the fire was warm, and for the first time since I'd woken with my mouth in the dirt, I felt as though I might be safe.

Then the first old woman turned to look at me, and the cackling began.

I think everyone's had one of those "I came to school naked!" dreams in their life. Imagine that, but instead of school, it's three old ladies and one housekeeper in a mystical world of magic and adventure. One of them kept pointing towards my defensive hand. All of them were about as hysterical as old ladies could get. Even the housekeeper, blushing as she was, was giggling a bit.

 _Ha ha. Laugh at the naked girl. Don't try to help her or anything, that'd be nuts._

I ground my back teeth together, shifted from foot to foot, looked at everything but their wizened faces. Every time I just about worked up the courage to speak in defense of myself, one of them would lose it again at some insignificant detail, like how I was apparently covered in wet dirt (I'd failed to notice that), and off they'd go again. Eventually I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined that the laughter was directed at something other than me. It helped.

At last the laughter petered off into throaty gurgles. "Oh my," said one of the old women, amusement coloring her voice, and I cracked open my eyes to see that it was the woman by the fire, resting her head on one wrinkled hand. "Little Undead," she said, eyes flickering, "Many of your brethren have walked this place." A chuckle wracked her frame. "But none of your forebears came in the state _you_ have come." More laughter rose from all corners of the room. I felt a sudden powerful urge to bolt for the door, to sprint back into the grey grass. Perhaps the ogre would be kinder.

All of them were looking at me now. Probably waiting for an explanation. I grimaced, considered rubbing the back of my neck, and decided that my hand needed to stay where it was. "I'm sorry," I said. "I, uh… I kind of just woke up here. Like this. I think I died or something."

The woman by the fire cocked her head. "Ah," she said. "The fate of the Undead is to die, you know. Over, and over, and over." She cleared her throat. "You're finished," she said. "You, and all the ones who came before. You'll go Hollow, much like they did."

"Um," I said. "I'm Undead?"

One of the women at the table barked a laugh. "Look at your chest," she said, pointing a wavering hand. "See your Darksign. You bear the Curse like a mantle, foolish child."

I glanced down. Emblazoned on my whiteness was an amber ring bleeding fire, right over my heart. My eyes widened, I reached for it with a finger and then pulled away. _My God,_ I thought, _They're right. I_ am _Undead._

Well. That would make this world a lot easier to handle, if dying worked here like it did in the game.

The woman at the table continued to wax on about the living hell that was Hollowing while I stroked the Darksign on my chest with the very tip of my index finger. It burned, ever so slightly, like an infected wound. _This is real,_ I thought again. _I'm really here. I'm here and I'm Cursed._ Just how faithful was the real-world Drangleic to the game, anyway? I _would_ be born again at the nearest bonfire, right? And, no matter what, I wouldn't _actually_ go Hollow. I'd died around ten thousand times in the game and I hadn't Hollowed for good. So it was safe to say that wasn't actually going to happen to me. Probably.

There was a sudden, pointed silence in the room. All of the women were looking at me, and I realized belatedly that a question had probably been asked. "Oh," I said, "Sorry, I was sort of—sort of zoning. What was that?"

The woman at the table seemed put out. "Your name, Undead," she prompted, waving a hand. "Do you remember?"

"Sure," I said, and as I said it I knew with a sudden bone-chilling jolt that I had lied. "I—" On the far side of the room the fire caught my attention, crackling and spitting and dying, flame over flame. It glowed in my eyes. "I guess I _don't_ know," I admitted, and the warmth seemed to recede from the room, to slink away like a nervous animal. I pulled away from the fire, looked to each woman in turn, even the housekeeper. "I don't—I don't remember anything," I said, which was not strictly true, I remembered the Toyota, becoming one with a bicycle in the gutter, dying, falling—nothing else. Nothing before, nothing but the game, my fingers on a controller, no context for those actions. No family. No friends. No name.

"Fuck," I said.

The woman at the table was shaking her head. "You're far along, Undead. Close to the end, now. You'll go Hollow soon."

My skin crawled. "No," I said, "No, I—I don't think so."

The woman chuckled, greying hair falling about the crags and pits of her face. "Even your name is lost to you now, little one. Your flame sputters and goes dark." There was no pity in her voice. She sounded detached. Perhaps she'd seen this sort of thing happen many times before.

Not to _me,_ though. Never to me. I was the Bearer of the Curse, Shanalotte's chosen warrior, and at the very least I was a regular human being from the actual world who was probably going to find a way back home sooner or later.

Reality was settling in now, seeping into me, saturating my body with a heavy fear. "I think—I think I need to sit down," I said. "Take a breather. Just for a moment." Sweat had begun to bead on my temples. "Nobody get up," I continued, when nobody moved, "I'll just sit on the steps if that's alright with everyone, I just need to—just need to clear my head."

The housekeeper (what was her name? Millie? Something like that?) moved to the side as I crossed closer to the fire and collapsed on the bottom wooden step, hugging my naked knees to my chest, feeling more exposed than I had before. "And I need some clothing," I murmured against my own flesh, "I can't keep going around like this."

"Oh!" said the housekeeper at once, "I'm sure I have some extra things you could borrow upstairs. Would you like me to look?"

The kindness was so startling that I squeezed my knees until my fingers went white. "Thank you," I said, looking up, meeting her eyes. "Thank you, um…?"

"Milibeth," she said, smiling tentatively. "It is good to meet you."

"Same," I said, and when I went to offer my name my tongue sputtered and fell against the bottom of my mouth. "Sorry," I said, looking into the fire again. "I'd give you a name if I had one."

"That's alright," she said, bustling around me as she headed up the steps. "I'm sure it'll come back to you if you think on it long enough."

I was not so sure.

Her footsteps receded into the upstairs room and I took the moment to glance at the old maybe-firekeepers, who had fallen silent. _I could tell them,_ I thought, _about where I'm actually from._ It was a slightly confusing narrative, but at least then I could explain away the whole naked thing. I would also look completely, utterly insane, but again, the whole naked thing had already sent me down that track.

I opened my mouth to begin the story and then closed it with a click of my teeth. No… Back home, if I said something like _I'm from the mystical land of Drangleic!_ I would probably end up in an insane asylum near-instantly. I'd never get anywhere like that. If I wanted people to trust me, I'd need to keep my origins strictly under wraps.

And I _did_ want people to trust me. Lucatiel, Benhart of Jugo, Shanalotte, Rosabeth, even depressing people like Saulden. If I wanted to get home (did I want to get home?) I wasn't about to do it on my own.

A creak from the step behind me had me tilting my head back to meet Milibeth's eyes. "I found some things," she said, cradling a bundle of red in her arms. "I hope they'll suit you."

"Thank you," I said, standing up and accepting the bundle. The cloth was soft against my skin. "I'll just go upstairs and change into this." I took a step. "Seriously, Milibeth, thank you," I said again, meeting her eyes, "I couldn't have kept going on like this."

"It's really nothing," said Milibeth, smiling broadly, "You needed those clothes more than I did!"

 _Ain't that the truth,_ I thought, ascending past her.

The little upstairs room was as dark and small as I remembered it. I wasted no time shimmying into the clothing Milibeth had provided me. The bra-like garment was coarse and somewhat tight, and what seemed to be a medieval pair of underwear was just as coarse and not something I would have chosen in modern life, but would serve. I wriggled into Milibeth's red dress and grimaced, realizing that the skirt and sleeves were far too long. _I'm going to trip, like, every time I take a step,_ I thought, _Why'd she have to be so much taller than me?_

To my utter lack of surprise, the soft shoes she'd gotten for me did not fit, not even remotely. _Way too small,_ I thought, kicking them off my abused feet. _What the fuck, I'll go barefoot, it's not gonna kill me._

Not unless I stepped on something poisonous. Were there poisonous things to step on in Drangleic? Just because I couldn't remember any didn't mean they weren't there.

I scanned the room, spotted the open chest, and crossed over to it. _Nothing,_ I thought, frowning. _Wasn't there something in there in the game? I'm like 99% sure there was._ I tugged on one of my dangling sleeves. _Looks like there might be differences between the game and the actual place. That's too bad. Carbon copy would make this a whole lot easier._

But there was a certain thrill in knowing that the world of Drangleic was not confined to video game limitations. _It's a real place now,_ I thought, as I eased closed the lid of the chest to create a disappointing surprise for future visitors. _It operates like a real place._ I thought of the Shrine of Winter and smirked to myself. _Maybe I can crawl over that waist-high rubble and bypass a_ lot _of hassle. That'd be neat._

Clothed, I trotted back down the steps to where Milibeth was waiting. The corners of her lips turned up when she spotted me, but she managed to keep her laughter internal, where it belonged. "I fear my dress has a bit more material than you would have required, fair traveler," she said, noting the sleeves, the way the dress trailed the floor.

"Yep," I said, crossing my arms over my chest, _"Just a bit."_

A flicker crossed over her face, and she frowned, turning her head from me. "It is unfortunate that you cannot remember your origins," she said, rubbing her pale chin. "I would have liked to know what land you call home. Your manner of speaking is very strange."

"It _is_ a shame," I said. _I am a dumbass,_ I thought. _Obviously_ modern lingo would seem out of place here, and the last thing I needed right now was to have to field awkward questions about what land I might hail from.

"Wherever you came from," Milibeth continued, "I assume you traveled here to break your curse." She flicked a finger towards the Darksign peeking out from the neckline of my dress. "If there is any place in the world where such a curse might be broken," she said, "Drangleic is it." She closed her eyes. "And this place is a halfway point between the outside world and hidden Drangleic. You did well to find it."

"Thanks— _thank you,"_ I said. _Remember: ixnay on the ingolay._ "I wish I could remember how I got here, but I assume it can't have been easy."

"I wouldn't think so," Milibeth said, opening her eyes and smiling at me. "You are a brave child, coming here."

 _Child again,_ I thought, _how old_ am _I?_ When I fielded the question to Milibeth, she blinked several times and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, "You're still quite young. So am I, I suppose!"

"Yes," I said, "But when you say _child,_ is that what you actually mean? Child? Or just a particularly youthful adult?"

"The second, I suppose," said Milibeth. "Does the distinction matter?"

"It does to me," I said, thinking back to my brief but vivid fantasy of sexual congress with Saulden, which I was sure would never happen if I was a literal child, and was still probably never going to happen because now that I really thought about it, it didn't sound as enticing as it had at first. "Adults have privileges that children do not," I told Milibeth, by way of an explanation.

"Ah," she said, "I see." She didn't seem to.

For a while we were silent. I listened to the crackle of the flame at my back, curled my bare toes against the wooden floorboards, felt that familiar heavy weight settling over me that meant I was afraid, confused, alone. I shook myself, smiled at Milibeth. "I'm not far from Drangleic now, am I?" I asked her, thinking of the sunlit cavern beyond, the chill damp, the lonely cold.

"Oh, no," said Milibeth, "You're very nearly there, fair traveler. Just a little farther." She tugged on the front of her dress. "I suppose you'll be going on soon?"

It felt like a dismissal, although I didn't think it was meant to be one. "Right," I said, taking a step back, "I suppose I _will_ be going—" I paused, searched her face. For an absurd moment I hoped she would ask me to stay. I could stay in the hut with the mean old women and Milibeth, avoid the trials beyond. I would never return home, of course (nor sit the Throne of Want—still hadn't figured out which one I was more interested in) but as I stood by the fire I felt as though I might be able to eke out a life here, in this outpost against the coming dark.

The moment passed. Milibeth waited for me to continue with arched brows, and I blinked and said, "Yes, I suppose I'll be going now. Right now." Resolve clotted in my belly. _I couldn't stay here,_ I thought, looking at the little room, the table, the few chairs, _this place isn't for me. I've got to keep going. This isn't where my story ends._

Maybe it was a grandiose thought, but at least it was motivational.

Milibeth nodded. "Gone so soon," she said, "All you travelers are such fleeting things." She reached for my hand, clasped it between both of hers. "Protect yourself, nameless friend," she said. Her palms were warm and dry. "I will pray that you will break your curse." Her breath was soft on my face. "Remember your name, if you can. It will help you."

"I'll—I will try, Milibeth," I said, thinking as I said it, _there's no way, it's gone, it's lost._ "Thank you." Gently I extricated myself from her grip. "As soon as I'm able I'll come back here and return your dress."

She laughed. "Goodness, no," she said, waving a hand, "I won't accept it. Keep it, fair traveler. A gift." Her eyes sparkled in the light from the fire. "Until we meet again," she said, bowed her head, and moved off to pluck up a tray of drinks from a table in the corner.

It was as clear a dismissal as I was going to get. I nodded, tried to keep my smile up, and walked across the room to where the second door was set into the wall. "Goodbye, everyone," I said, as I stood at the threshold, "I, ah… thank you for your hospitality."

None of the old women even looked up. Milibeth balanced her drinks in one hand for a moment and waved.

Okay, screw those old ladies.

I turned and ducked through the doorway, back into the now-familiar dark. In the little clearing beyond stood what I thought might be gravestones, like teeth jutting from the earth in irregular formation. An old wooden cart stood in the corner, long-forgotten. And of course _it_ was there, as I'd known it would be. The _bonfire._

Even as I stood a few feet away from it, its warmth filled and burned me. I felt my Darksign pulsing on my chest; I felt my blood swelling in my veins. _I'm alive,_ I thought, staring at the amber flame as it spat and wriggled, _I've never been more alive._

I crept closer, suddenly shy, as though the bonfire were a living thing. _I suppose it used to be,_ I thought, peering at the bones lining its base. _Those are Undead, aren't they?_ I would have shuddered if it were possible to be cold in the presence of such a thing. _That could be me one day,_ I thought, wishing I wasn't thinking it. _If the old woman was right. She wasn't right, though, I won't Hollow, I can't. I can't._

With every step I took a warm lethargy sapped at my strength. By the time I was close enough to the bonfire to reach out and touch it, I found that standing was no longer possible. With a long sigh I threw myself down in front of the bonfire, let my eyelids half-close, leaned into its warmth.

 _I wonder who lit this,_ I thought, and froze.

Really. Who _had_ lit the bonfire? As far as I could remember, _I_ was supposed to have done that. _But the old woman said that others have come before,_ I reminded myself. _Maybe other Undead can light the bonfires. Maybe all the other bonfires have already been lit._ Struck by sudden inspiration, I tilted my head towards the flame and closed my eyes, willing myself to a different bonfire, to the Far Fire. After a few moments, in which _willing myself_ proved to be remarkably ineffective, I gave up and settled back on my haunches. Perhaps the other bonfires weren't actually lit; perhaps the fast travel thing was just a gameplay mechanic. I would find out later, I supposed.

The longer I sat by the bonfire, the more my strength returned to me, in reassuring increments. I yawned, stretched, and rubbed the muscle pain out of the back of my neck. Before me the bonfire crackled, and I had a half-buried urge to stick my bare hand into the flame, to run my fingers across the hot metal of the sword buried within. My fingers strained towards the bonfire and I found myself grasping my offending wrist with the other hand. "Don't do that," I muttered to myself, "The last thing you need right now is a burnt hand. This isn't a game."

Well, technically…

 _Ha, ha._

I shook myself and got to my feet, dusting off my dress. It flapped at my ankles as I trotted towards the tree-lined tunnel ahead. I paused at the entrance, warned by an instinct that told me to _look again, you're missing something, jackass, check_ behind _everything or you'll die super fast and all've this will be for nothing._ Less of an instinct, really, and more of an abusive voice in my head, but either way it was a good warning system.

 _The cart!_ I thought, and crossed over to it, peering behind one of the wheels. Then I groaned and leaned my weight against the cart for a soul-crushing moment, because, of course, there was nothing there. _Drangleic is a_ lot _less giving with items than the game was,_ I thought, returning to the tree-lined tunnel and ducking into it without hesitation. _I haven't even gotten a friggin' human effigy yet. Pretty sure that was meant to have happened by now._

I managed to avoid the worst of the tree roots in the tunnel and came out on the other side no worse for wear. Before me my path narrowed and snaked ahead through the darkness that was Things Betwixt, branching into darkened hollows every few meters. _This is the tutorial section,_ I thought, hands on my hips while I evaluated, _and—son of a bitch—by now in the game I would've had a weapon._

Unbelievable. There was no way I was going to work my way through this area punching every Hollow in it to death. _Besides,_ I thought, starting forward, _this is real Drangleic, not game Drangleic. I don't have to pick fights here just because it's a game. Hell, with some of the saner enemies I might be able to just use diplomacy. Maybe if I explain to Nashandra that I'm tough as heck and she should just back off my monarchy doesn't have to start in bloodshed!_

Maybe. Probably not.

I kept to the center path, hiking my dress up to mid-calf to avoid tripping and falling to my doom and then having to explain to the old firekeepers that I'd literally died in the _tutorial_ section, yes, I'm trash at this game. The dirt was cool under my feet as I stalked past each tunnel where I knew Hollows lay in wait, swaying on emaciated legs, jaws gaping, prepared to tear my throat asunder to get a taste of the zero souls I currently had.

Who knew how souls even worked in this game. Maybe I had a ton and didn't even realize it. It was impossible to say.

I made it to the opposite end of the cavern and paused at the mouth of yet another tunnel to toss a glance back over my shoulder. _It's a beautiful place, anyway,_ I thought, remembering the quiet grey grass and the waterfall, the amber hut and its red women, sunlight bleeding in from above. _This whole damn world is beautiful._ I drummed my fingers against rock. _You're lucky, kid,_ I told myself, _No one back home will ever see anything like this. Pretty nice, even if you are in your death throes and this is just a gorgeous hallucination._

There was a certain finality as I stepped into the last tunnel and began my gentle ascent. _Well I have to go back, anyway,_ I told myself, turning a corner, _I need to return Milibeth's dress eventually, it's only polite._ The grass grew dewy under my feet. From ahead I felt a crisp chill, and rubbed at my skin through the dress. _Almost there,_ I thought, remembering Milibeth's words, _almost in Drangleic…_

I turned a corner. There it was.

For a while I stood in place, staring, absorbing. Anything I might have said died in my throat and I stared mutely at moonlight glittering off the endless sea, the little settlement below me, the windswept cliffs, the lonely heights.

"Majula," I said at last. "Well. Fuck me sideways."

I'd made it.


End file.
